


Mercy

by etoilecourageuse



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Azkaban, Dementors (Harry Potter) - Freeform, Gen, Rape Aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-02
Updated: 2014-05-02
Packaged: 2018-01-21 15:15:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1554914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etoilecourageuse/pseuds/etoilecourageuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The prison broke them all, they said, but it was a lie. It would only break those who were weak enough to give in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mercy

**Author's Note:**

> From the prompt: [#74](http://hp-darkarts.livejournal.com/67791.html?thread=926671#t926671) by Delphipsmith.
> 
>  
> 
> This prompt was incredibly intriguing to me and I really hope that I managed to do it justice; Azkaban is such an eerie but fascinating place. Lots of thanks to my favourite mod duo for hosting this fest and for your patience; a big thank you also to my wonderful beta K. and to C. for the constant support and cheerleading!

She had grown tired of the darkness. She had grown tired of despair, tired of fear, tired of hoping, even of breathing, of inhaling the dungeon's stuffy air that was supposed to prolong her life and yet seemed to suffocate her from the inside. She had grown tired of the cold, tired of the screams that would never fall silent. The screams, the voices, the begging for death… Had they once driven her close to madness? Now she endured them as though they had become a part of her, endured them as though she had become numb. 

“Mercy!” they’d cry, over and over again, still holding on to the foolish belief that they were heard. “Mercy, please! Let me die! Mercy!” 

The prison broke them all, they said, but it was a lie. It would only break those who were weak enough to give in. It was easy, pretending to be brave, as long as there were people who believed it to be the truth, but only the strongest faced loneliness without fear. 

It seemed like thousands of years ago that they fought side by side, in a war that once had meant everything. And now? Now, should everything be forgotten? Should the battle be lost? 

“Mercy!” they cried. “Mercy!” 

How ridiculous they were. How ridiculous they sounded, how ridiculous it was of them to waste their energy, only to be silenced by the Dementors once more. Dementors… She would have laughed at the thought, would have screamed out the word for the entire world to hear had her voice not dried out long ago. Dementors… She, too, had once been afraid; she, too, had once believed what others claimed to be true. And yet, the Dementors were not the worst, not by far. How could they do any harm if they merely showed memories? What fools the people were that feared them, she thought… And what fools were those that didn’t. 

She had given in to the Dementors long ago, long before she had surrendered to the darkness. Surrender. It was not in her nature to yield, but what other choice did she have; to yell, to cry, or to plead for her life and sanity until her own weakness came to suffocate her? Even if she were to perish in this place, even if Azkaban meant her certain death, she would gladly accept her fate, leaving this world without fear, the same as her father had once done in the moment he realised he had gone to a battle that he was destined to lose.

Perhaps this was her battle now. And perhaps it was long lost, lost with the Dark Lord’s fall. Perhaps she, too, was lost. 

Only her sister would still desperately cling to the hope that she could save her, would still come to visit her, week by week by week, smiling at her as she spoke of nothing and everything, as though she believed that a smile could hide the sadness within her deep blue eyes.

“If only I could help you, Bella,” she had heard Narcissa whisper once, still saw her image standing before her long after she had left, and yet she never spoke a word in return. 

Was her sister really fool enough to believe she valued her own life enough to beg for a relief that would never come, to believe she had not known misery before? Was she really fool enough to believe that Dementors could harm her still? The Dementors seemed to devour her pain, and pain was all she had to give, pain was all that kept her alive. If she had ever felt anything like happiness, it was long gone, had faded away long before they had brought her to this place, long before they had thrown her into the cell like an animal, long before the Dementors had come for her for the first time.

After a while, she had begun to await them. 

She had never screamed like the other women, had never attempted to refuse, and wouldn’t now as the cold began to spread inside of her, slowly paralysing her. The cold had never bothered her, nor had the…

From far away, she heard her husband’s laugh. 

Only then did a silent gasp escape from her lips, only then did she hold her breath… Had it been the Dementors’ purpose to break them, they were too late. There was no need to remind her of something impossible to forget, no need to cause her to relive what she always relived in the moments she allowed herself to succumb to sleep. Dementors lived to destroy, but how could they destroy her if she was long dead? How could they take her soul from her if nothing at all remained?

A Black would always do her duty, her mother had taught her, and it was duty that had taken away everything from her. 

She had grown tired of the darkness, tired of being blind. She had grown tired of the Dementors, tired of her thoughts and dreams, tired of what was claimed to be her life. Merely the war had given her a reason to survive, but it was lost. Everything was lost. 

“Mad.” She heard them whisper when they passed her cell, their voices hushed, yet clear enough for anyone to notice. “Another one who has fled into insanity.” 

Insanity had been her companion for too long, and yet she had never given in to it. It seemed so easy to lose her mind, and yet so hard. Perhaps madness would bring her relief, but it wasn’t relief that she longed for. It was escape. 

Her only escape would be death and death alone. How many times had she danced with death, and how many times had it let go of her again, throwing her back into the Dementors’ arms as though to deny her what nobody had been denied before. In this place, even to die seemed like a privilege. 

The cold numbed her limbs, seemed to freeze her breath before it had even left her lungs. Screams fell silent and the only thing left to hear was her own voice, quietly begging for mercy. 

 

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